Page 60 of Dissonance

“It’s subtle, but it’s there.” Standing, she crosses her arms, watching me flip open a new file. The teasing in her voice softens as she continues. “All I’m saying is, you spend ninety percent of your time working and the other ten thinking about work. If Lockie wants to wine and dine you, let him.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say again, but it comes out less convincing this time.

“Maybe not to you.” She smiles like she knows better. “But it could be.”

She heads back to her desk, leaving me staring after her.

Dating Lockie… The mere idea of it feels strange, and also like the most obvious thing in the world. We’ve slept together, we’ve argued, but we’ve never done this. No dates, nothing beyond the morning after, no showing up just because. Maybe Mae’s right. Maybe this is something I should let myself have.

Which is exactly why it scares me.

My brain is still full of schedules and contracts and calls that could have been emails as I start the walk home, the familiar route quietly doing the work of decompressing the day while my thoughts circle back to him.

Just enjoy this.

I shove my hands deeper into my coat pockets, swallowing the thought as I nod to the doorman and take the stairs. Standing still in an elevator just feels wrong right now. Like all this nervous energy needs somewhere to go, even if that means walking up six flights.

I’m so deep in my own head by the time I reach my floor that I nearly miss the door across from mine opening, the man occupying my thoughts all day stepping out. I stand still, simply refusing to process what I’m seeing.

He’s wearing a light t-shirt and athletic shorts, a towel slung over one shoulder, a sports drink in hand. His mouth tilts in that barely-there way when he sees me. “Thea.”

I look at him, then at the apartment he just came out of, then back at him. “What are you doing?”

“Heading to the gym,” he says, nodding past me. “Building’s got a decent one, apparently.”

“Right.” That explains the shorts. And the arms. And the— I glance behind him again, through the gap in the door, clean paint and new carpet smell drifting into the hallway. “But you came out of there.”

“Aye.”

“You live there?” I ask, blinking slowly.

“Aye.”

That’s it. Aye. Like that explains everything.

“You moved into my building,” I say, more to myself than to him.

He shrugs one shoulder, completely unbothered. “Seemed convenient.”

Convenient.

I stare at him for another second, trying hard not to notice that he looks like a walking body wash commercial. He shifts, leaning one arm on the wall beside my door, his head tilting downward to meet my eyes.

“Long day?”

“Could say that.”

He doesn’t comment, just lifts his hand and brushes a strand of hair from my face, seemingly without thought. The touch is brief, but it still sends a shiver down my spine. My lashes flutter, my tired body swaying, wanting to go to him.

Under his gaze, my pulse kicks up, and I lick my lips absently, drawing his attention there. Hunger flashes across his face, raw and unguarded, before he locks it down, a low rumble coming from his chest, so quiet I almost miss it. He swallows, nostrils flaring like he’s trying to restrain himself. But after hours of nothing but him on my mind, I don’t want him to. He’s standing right there, the solid heat of him inches away, my hands itching to close the distance so badly I have to curl them into my palms.

If he kissed me right now, I don’t think I’d stop him.

His jaw tightens, and he steps back, taking his warmth with him, the loss of it immediate.

“I’ll let you get inside,” he says, voice rougher than it was before.

“That’s it?”